Past Shadows
by Tajjas
Summary: Rick is having trouble dealing with Evelyn's relatives at her welcome home party, and Jonathan offers some advice. Set after The Mummy.


Past Shadows

_If anyone is under the impression that the characters from The Mummy are mine, I've got some lovely swampland in Florida you should take a look at._

Rick O'Connell leaned on the railing of the balcony of the Carnahan manor, posture stiff. Jonathan's first instinct was to leave him be—antagonizing a man who could likely break him in half with one hand wasn't the most sensible thing he could be doing. Still…. He took a large sip from his glass and moved to stand beside the American. "Hello, old chap. Why aren't you inside enjoying the festivities?"

An aborted jerk towards where he normally wore his guns and a quickly suppressed curse told Jonathan that Rick truly had been oblivious to everything around him. After a moment, though, Rick shrugged and returned his hands to the railing in front of him. "Just needed some air."

"They are a chatty bunch, aren't they? I can remember once, I would have been 13 or 14 so Evie couldn't have been more than five or six, Aunt Marilynn—the one with the large red hair—held a fundraiser for the local missionary society. Mum volunteered me to help with the decorations so I and some of the cousins had to go to the planning sessions, and honestly, the amount of time they actually spent on work as opposed to spreading the local gossip was…." He trailed off, realizing that the other man was no longer listening. Well, so much for distraction. "Rick? Rick!" He reached out and shook the other man's arm, unsurprised that it was jerked out of his grasp.

"What do you want?"

Well, that snarl was certainly enough to convey that he wasn't interested in company, but Jonathan had figured that out already. He took another sip and reminded himself that he'd come out here for Evie's sake. "I want to know why you're standing out here in the rapidly-becoming-cold while my sister is forced to entertain a bevy of relatives, most of whose company she doesn't actually enjoy, all alone."

"If you're so worried, why aren't you in there with her?"

A fair point, and he tried not to sigh. "I will be, momentarily, and no doubt get to deal with another round of 'What have _you_ done with your life, Jonathan?' and 'Your sister, at least, is making your parents proud.' I'm quite used to it, but I thought you might at least be backup for her for the 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?' and 'I don't think your father would have approved.' It's amazing really, how they can develop the perfect…well, not complaint, really, perhaps condescension, for every situation." This time he did sigh. "I almost wish for the days when we were children and would be stuck in a back room somewhere so the grown-ups could talk."

Rick shrugged at that. "Wouldn't know."

He took the voluntary input as a good sign. "It will be interesting, I think, when your family arrives for the wedding. How many are you expecting? I know Evie mentioned you hadn't sent any invitations yet, but…a guess?"

"None."

Well, that could explain why Rick was a little depressed. Getting married and having no one he knew to witness it, and on top of that seeing how many people would be there to support Evie. "None? I suppose it is rather a long way to come from America, but this is your house now and I can't see Evie evicting any in-laws just because the wedding is over. They certainly can't be any worse than the old biddies in there now." He should probably have felt badly about referring to his well-meaning relatives like that, but, honestly, how else could he describe Aunt Marilynn? "At least send the invitations; you might be surprised."

"I'm not sending invitations because I don't have anyone to send them _to_," came the flat response. "And I'm not in there because I don't have any idea how to deal with those people." His shoulders twitched. "About the only thing I know for sure is that shooting them is a bad idea."

"Pardon?" Jonathan ignored the second statement—he was a master at distraction himself and could certainly recognize the tactic in another—and concentrated on the first.

"Well, your sister might not like them much, but she was going on about good impressions, and—"

"That isn't what I meant. What do you mean no one to send them to?"

"I mean there's no one. There's no family, and most of the people I've called friends I wouldn't want anywhere near Evie."

That last Jonathan could understand easily enough—certainly he wanted some of his own acquaintances to stay well away from his baby sister!—but how someone could have no family was a bit beyond him. There were always aunts, uncles, cousins…his grandparents were dead, as well as his parents, but…family was just there. Like grass, or trees, or rain in London. You sent them the obligatory holiday greetings, attended their gatherings when you couldn't find an excuse not to, and helped them when they needed it because…well, they were family. "What…what happened to them all?"

"To who all?"

"Your relatives." Judging by the clench of his jaw, the American wasn't pleased with the question, and Jonathan took another sip of courage and concentrated on the fact that if Rick was willing to put aside shooting a couple of their more obnoxious second cousins for Evie's sake, he surely wouldn't kill her beloved brother. "I…I don't mean to pry."

"It's all right." Rick's voice was quiet, now, his gaze focused on the skyline. "I suppose I'd end up explaining soon enough anyway. I was born in Washington, D.C., the capitol of the United States. My father did something with the government…I really haven't the slightest idea what. When I was five or so, he got a position as a consul or attaché or something to the British army, and the three of us—he, my mother, and I—moved to Cairo. He was always out on one mission or another, so when my mother died of fever about a year after we got there, I went to live in an orphanage in Cairo."

"But surely your father—"

"I don't think he particularly wanted me around in the first place. I saw him twice after she died, once at her funeral and then again a couple years later when I ended up in the hospital. Don't ask. And then I got a message when I was about twelve that he'd been killed in the desert." He shrugged. "Alive or dead, he mattered very little to me, but he had a sister—much older—who came to Egypt then to take me back to New York with her. Her Christian duty, she called it. She was nice enough, in her own way, I suppose, but she was so much older…." He shook his head. "She had no idea what to do with a child, especially an overactive twelve year old. And I can't say I was much help. The orphanage wasn't great, but it was the only home I really remembered. The other children were the only family I had."

"I'm sorry." Jonathan regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. It sounded like a platitude and would do nothing to help the other man's pain. Then again, probably nothing would, and Rick didn't seem upset.

"Yeah, well, at least she tried. She got sick though, maybe a year and a half after we got back to New York. Just when we'd gotten used to each other. And then six months later she died. She'd arranged for me to stay with friends of hers, but they changed their minds. I put up with an orphanage there for about two days before I stowed away on a ship headed for France."

"At...what? Fourteen?" He checked his math quickly and then shook his head. "Do you know what they could have done to you if they found you?"

The other man looked down at him, grinning slightly. "They did find me. I figured they would. It's a long trip to be in hiding, and I had to eat something. Anyway, they didn't beat me as badly as I'd expected, and I learned a bit about sailing on the trip. Worked in the shipyards in Nice for awhile after we put into port—didn't know what else to do—and then I met up with a guy in the Foreign Legion. He had all the stories: fighting the bad guys, saving the ladies, that kind of thing. And he said the magic words—a posting in Libya. Everybody else was telling him how bad they felt, how hot and dull it would be, and all I could think was that if I could get to Libya, it's no great issue to cross into Egypt and to Cairo. So, off I went to join. Had to lie about my age, but I was tall for fifteen and they weren't exactly being picky. Long as I weighed enough to handle the guns…."

Jonathan tried to study his soon-to-be-brother-in-law out of the corner of his eye without being obvious, attempting to determine if the American was rather more drunk than he'd originally thought. Surely not—one of the ninnies inside would already have been commenting on the amount of wine he'd taken. But still, he'd never heard that many words out of Rick's mouth in one sitting. Hell, he suspected hadn't heard that many words out of Rick's mouth in the entire rest of the time they'd known each other. He flushed suddenly, realizing that blue eyes were staring back at him. "So that's how you spent the war?" he asked, prompting the story to continue.

"Well, I had some interesting times for about a year before, but yeah. And several years afterward, I got my posting in Libya." He smiled slightly. "I was older then…23, maybe, 24. Old enough to know that going back to Cairo wouldn't be what I'd always dreamed about when I was a kid, anyway. So I stayed with the garrison until our commander got some information about an ancient city called Hamanaptura. Believe you know the end of that story."

"That I do, old chap. But your friends from the orphanage, did you ever find any of them?"

"There was a fire a few years after I left…apparently most of the kids got out, but whatever records there were got destroyed. I tried asking, but honestly, do you have any idea how many Arabic men named Ahmed there are in Cairo? Daniel, at least, was English, but it's not exactly an uncommon name either. And who knows whether either of them stayed in the city. Hell, if they're even _alive_."

"I find it hard to believe that any friends of your could be less than resourceful," Jonathan commented. "They're probably standing on their own balconies now and wondering about you." He had a sneaking suspicion he should have ignored the roughness in the other man's voice, but…ah, he never had been one for taking hints. "But here Evie and I—well, I, anyway—stand, complaining about an overabundance of relatives while you wonder about the safety of your own." Powerful muscles twitched when he reached out to pat the other man's back, but for once Rick didn't jerk away. "I am sorry; I didn't mean to bring back bad memories."

"It's not that." Rick shook his head. "I'm not sure what got me started on that. Didn't mean to twist your ear. I'm out here because…hell, I don't know. It's just…I've been on my own for so long. The only big groups I've been in are in the taverns or the Legionnaire barracks. Nothing like that," he jerked his head towards the house. "Not even growing up. Damn bull in a china shop—I don't have any idea how to react. Pretty good idea what I _shouldn't_ say, but…no idea what I should." Jonathan thought he detected a flush on the other man's face as he glanced over. "I'd be better off blowing up the undead, but this is important to Evie, and I don't want to mess it up."

You told me about your family because it does bother you, even if you don't want to admit it, Jonathan thought. And I don't know how to help, except make sure you know you've got Evie and me now. He couldn't very well say _that _out loud, but as to the last.... "I believe I can give you some pointers on dealing with the still-living without resorting to explosives." He caught the other man's shoulders, turning him towards the door. Well, trying to, anyway. It was hard to move a six-foot Legionnaire-adventurer who didn't want to be moved. "Come on, it's not so hard, really. There are three phrases that I guarantee will see you through the night."

"Three?" Rick glanced down at him and then turned, allowing himself to be led away from the railing and towards the door.

"Precisely. This is a welcome home gathering; they want everyone to catch up on their current events. So, the first phrase—'Really, I hadn't heard.' That will work well for you…you really don't know any of their stories or what's been happening. Use it whenever they mention something someone is doing. Cousin Jimmy has taken up model airplanes as a hobby, Aunt Isobel won an embroidery contest, go ahead and ask about it. I imagine you'll soon be bored out of your mind, but just know Evie and I are feeling the same way. And I guarantee that will keep you from having to make any real conversation beyond the appreciative, 'Honestly?' and 'I can hardly believe it' for quite awhile. And knowing my aunts and uncles, they'll all be impressed with your interest in the family."

"'I hadn't heard', huh?"

"Absolutely. The second isn't just a phrase it's more of a…tactic…for if they want to know something about you that you don't want to talk about. We Carnahans are occasionally nosey buggers." He caught a quick smile at that and gave a grin of his own. "Tell them, 'It's a long story.'"

"What? I would have guessed they'd like long stories."

"They do, if it's them telling it. You might have to start a story, but you could always say something like, 'I was working in Cairo…or was it Thebes?…it may have been—no, no, it was definitely Cairo. It was three years ago…maybe four….'" He waved a hand. "Well, I imagine you get the point. The moment they say 'That's nice,' you're in the clear."

"And that actually works?"

"I haven't had to answer a single question about my career and where it is—or is not—going in years." Jonathan nodded to himself. "Now, the most important phrase. Do not forget this one, it's all purpose. 'Oh, your glass is low. Let me get you more wine.' Guaranteed to get you out of almost any situation, particularly when they're just visiting as they are now. Don't worry about later when the ladies go to do their thing and we're supposed stay in the lounge—all the men want to brag about their hunting expertise. I was going to ask how the seasons were going, and that will keep them all entertained for hours trying to out-brag each other. Feel free to toss something in if you like, but you probably won't need to."

"Hunting talk I can handle," Rick said with relief in his voice. "It's the ladies that were killing me."

Jonathan laughed. "Just remember those three phrases and you'll be fine. I'll stick close if you like—I've certainly had enough practice dealing with them by now." Rick made no verbal response to his offer, but he decided that he would stay close anyway. It was the least he could do. "So…just to make sure you remember?"

"'Really, I hadn't heard?', 'It's a long story', and 'Your glass is low, let me get you more wine.' Right?"

"Dead on, old son. You'll make it through the night."

Rick chuckled. "I think I almost believe you." He stopped before they got to the door. "Jonathan? I…thanks."

"Not necessary—Evie would have been out here herself but they've been after her about planning the wedding. Don't worry; you won't be bothered with any of that. You're just expected to agree with her."

"I meant for listening, too…still don't know why I got started on all that."

"You're most welcome, then." It didn't take a genius to see the other man was uncomfortable showing gratitude, and there was no reason to thank him for simply lending an ear. He reached up to put an arm around Rick's shoulders, urging him forward again. "Come, let's brave the horde."


End file.
